


Things We Said

by CaroltheQueen (always_1895)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Post-Canon, Prompt Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 15:13:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8406610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_1895/pseuds/CaroltheQueen
Summary: A collection of short prompt fics from my Tumblr.





	1. Things you said under the stars and in the grass

Their convoy back from Mount Weather was slow going, with most of their number shell shocked or injured or both. They were already losing light, and with that in mind, as well as the unknown state of their brief alliance with the Grounders, Marcus called a halt to the procession and ordered that they set up camp for the night. His own leg was throbbing from his fruitless attempts to fight back against the mountain men who'd captured them, and from forcing himself to keep a steady pace alongside Abby's stretcher. Even now, as he continued to move, slower, overseeing their people settle down, building fires and makeshift beds and shelter, faces pinched in fear, pain and grief, his eyes never strayed far from where she lay, Clarke crouched down beside her. Bellamy, he noticed, who had taken up watch alongside David Miller and his son, despite Marcus telling him that he should get some rest, was frequently looking over in the same direction; heart reaching out for Clarke but keeping his distance.

Marcus wasn't going to keep his distance. Not when he'd almost lost Abby today. Not now he'd realised he couldn't live without her.

Once he was as satisfied as he could be with the weary people huddled into groups around small flames, he made his way back to her side, limping now despite himself. Abby's eyes were full of concern as soon as he shuffled into view, despite the pain he knew she must be in. He sat down heavily in the grass next to her, and Abby's hand was already on his injured thigh, craning her neck to try and get a better look.

"Are you bleeding? You could have popped your stitches." Marcus felt a warmth in his chest with the ease and familiarity with which she reached out to touch him, even if it was mainly a physician's touch, and returned it, grasping the hand on his leg in his own when she tried to move closer and let out an involuntary hiss of pain.

"Abby, stop." He murmured, and she squeezed his hand until the pain receded again, to a more bearable level at least. "Lie back, come on."

Gingerly, she lowered her head down again to the bunched up blanket she was using as a pillow, and pulled up the one tucked over her legs, never relinquishing his hand.

"Promise me you won't just let yourself bleed out without saying anything."

He smiled, though he couldn't keep the worry from his voice when he countered, "Promise _me_ you'll stop trying to doctor everyone else whilst you're trying to hide how much pain you're in."

There was a moment of silence where their gazes remained locked together, like he was daring her to deny it again, then Abby closed her eyes and let out a deep, shuddering sigh that was on the verge of a sob.

"God, Marcus."

"It's okay," He shifted down to lean on his elbow and reached over to brush messy strands of hair away from her face. The sleeve of his jacket rode up as she opened her eyes, and they alighted on the raw, bruised skin circling his wrist where he'd fought against the cuffs to get to her.

"Marcus." The fingers of her free hand touched lightly to his pulse point, and in that whisper of his name Marcus could hear a question she already knew the answer to, an affirmation of his presence and how much he cared. Her eyes searched his as he hovered over her, and he let her read how overwhelmingly thankful and relieved he was that she was still here, breathing, next to him.

Then he let himself fall back against the slightly damp grass beneath him, lying close, their hands still entwined in the scant space between them, and stared up at the stars they'd fallen from. Wondered at how they looked exactly the same yet completely different from where he was literally surrounded and cradled by the Earth. Marcus felt heavy, weighed down by an exhaustion that wasn't just physical, sinking deep into his bones. The sheer terror that had crashed over him earlier at seeing Abby tied down and screaming on that table was still crushing his chest, and he realised he only felt he could breathe again when he whispered the truth of it into the night sky.

"I swear I've never felt as scared as I did when I thought I was about to watch you die in front of me." He swallowed around the lump that rose in his throat, but couldn't keep the thickness of clogged emotion out of his voice, "So powerless."

There was silence for a moment, then, a little sardonically, but not meanly so, "It was pretty scary for me too."

He snorted, then shook his head at himself, feeling guilty and ridiculous, "You're right, I'm sorry, I have no -"

"Marcus, sssh." Her voice was gentle, "I understand what you're saying."

"I tried..."

A finger swept lightly over his sore wrist, "I know."

"I need you." He turned to look at her, finally, wondering if she still understood. He didn't just need her as a doctor or a co-leader, if that's what they were. He didn't just need her for their people. He needed her to breathe. " _I_ need you."

The small smile curling at her lips and the brightness of her eyes as she watched him told him she did, she understood.

She moved her head to rest against his shoulder and Marcus focused for a while on matching his breathing to hers. When they began to even out and he wondered if she'd fallen asleep, thankful that she might have a respite from the pain, he heard it,

"I need you, too."


	2. Things you said when you thought I was asleep

_Irregular_ would be the kindest word for Abby's sleeping pattern these days. Marcus and Jackson, she knows, prefer words such as _worrying, harmful_ , and often _ridiculous_ , but she finds she can't describe to either of them the sheer weight of everything crashing down over her when she lies sleepless and alone in the darkness of her quarters. Trying to force her mind to rest only dredges up thoughts, memories, regrets that she is too busy to contemplate during the day. At night the ghosts come rushing in. 

She thinks about Jake, and clenches her hand around his ring, her sobs muffled by her pillow, thinking _you should be here... I don't deserve this... I'm sorry._ She thinks about the hundreds and hundreds of people on the Ark that never made it down here, the desperate hope that there may yet be other survivors out there. She thinks about her people, their people, hers and Marcus', because he has been right there beside her, supporting, caring. Their people who are relying on them. She thinks about what needs doing, the patients she needs to see and the reports she needs to go over and how just lying here with her mind in overdrive is accomplishing nothing and she should be making better use of this time.

More than anything, she thinks about Clarke. How every time she loses her a piece of her heart is torn out and Clarke takes it with her. Abby wonders which piece will be the last, the one that kills her.

So she'd rather be ridiculous and distract herself; work herself into exhaustion until her head simply finds the nearest horizontal surface and she succumbs for a few dreamless hours. And if Marcus occasionally takes it upon himself to carry her to bed from whatever uncomfortable position she ends up passing out in, well Abby's not going to complain.

In contrast it is easy to fall asleep here, in the Chancellor's room, in the only space that she and Marcus have made _theirs_ , occupied equally, together. It's easy to let the exhaustion wash over her; let her breathing slow and her eyes flutter shut in the warm glow of this place that seems to be the only one her subconscious mind automatically registers as _safe_. Sinking into the comfort of the couches' worn cushions and letting Marcus' soft rumble next to her as he reads and thinks out loud to her wash over her and lull her to sleep.

A part of her feels guilty, to fall asleep whist he's in mid flow... again. She feels guiltier still that this isn't the first time it's happened. But she's worked until her mind can't make sense of the words in front of her, and she's cocooned in warmth and comfort and security and Marcus. Marcus will always keep her safe. She's already half-conscious and uncaring when she curls into him slightly and her head rolls onto his shoulder. His worn t shirt is soft against her cheek, warm from his body heat, and his smell, earthy and musky male, speaks to her of familiarity and home. It's not a conscious thought, just a feeling she never thought she'd have again.

Dimly she's aware that he has stopped talking, no doubt looking down at her, considering her taking advantage of his shoulder as a cushion. Again. She's sinking down, but registers the feather light touch of his fingertips brushing away a few stray strands of hair from her face.

"You're utterly riveted by this irrigation report, I can tell." She can hear the fond amusement in his voice, closer to a whisper now, and seemingly further away. She doesn't want to be far away, but she's nearly wrapped in slumber's deep embrace.

Marcus sighs, "You sleep so peacefully here. Does... Does it help that I'm here?"

Yes, she thinks, still lingering on the threshold of sleep.

"Whatever helps, Abby, I'm here." He huffs a laugh, "If this is your way of saying you want to sleep with me, all you had to do was ask."

He would never be so forward as to say such a thing to her face. No, not while they're still navigating this tentative _thing_ between them, nameless but intimate. Still there are butterflies in her stomach at having heard him say it.

"I just wish you would look after yourself. I can't do this without you."

Her body is still lax and heavy, and she doesn't move a muscle, but her mind stirs and latches on to these words, spoken with the same softness he'd used whilst reading to her, but carrying the weight of emotion now; strained and unsure.

He tentatively rests his head on hers, she can hear and feel the bristles of his beard catching in her hair.

"I know why you can't sleep at night," He whispers, "I know you see the faces of the dead when you close your eyes. I do too." He swallows for a moment, like he's forcing the emotion down.

The sleepy fog is clearing from Abby's brain now, and her heart aches for them both. But she doesn't want to interrupt him when he's vulnerable and taking solace in speaking to her whilst she's sleeping.

"And I know you're pushing yourself so hard to keep yourself distracted. To keep yourself from thinking about Clarke." Abby feels the threat of tears beginning to rise behind her closed eyes. "But I promise you..." He shifts, murmuring into her hair, "I promise, I will find her. I would do anything..." He trails off for a moment, " _Anything_ to lift your burdens, to bring her back to you. Back home."

Abby has a strong urge to cry, to turn so she's pressed against him fully, and take him in her arms. His voice is so tender, yearning for the things he longs to give her. So she does the next best thing. It takes every effort to control her breathing, and she makes a small, sleepy noise as she feigns shifting closer in her sleep, so that her head slips down to his chest and her arm slowly moves to rest on his stomach, rising and falling with each breath he takes, her fingers loosely clutching the fabric, _holding on._

"Abby?"

She only turns her face further into him, ear resting directly over his thudding heart, which she notices begins to slow again once he believes she's still asleep. She feels him ever so slowly lift his now free arm and gently wrap it around her shoulders. She cannot remember the last time she was held like this, cannot remember the last time she believed Marcus Kane capable of such love and consideration. His secret words are like a gift that goes a little way to healing her torn up heart. His final whispered words make her feel like that heart is going to burst,

"I just want you both safe and happy." Again she's fighting not to cry, but she subtly tightens the grip she has on his shirt. Marcus drops the softest of kisses on the top of her head and whispers, "Sleep, Abby. Sleep as long as you need to. I'm here."

With whispered words of promise, support, and love soothing her, Abby Griffin sleeps.


	3. Things you said when I was crying

Upon their arrival, Marcus barely has time to properly look at what has become of Arkadia, what has become of _home_ , before their party is met by an enthusiastic and relieved Raven, Monty and Harper, and a more subdued Jasper, who has a small smile gracing his face nonetheless as Bellamy pulls him into a hug. Marcus greets them all, distractedly, though he allows himself to watch Abby draw an emotional Raven into her arms and stroke her hair like the loving mother she is. It is not lost on him that she held him like that, in the aftermath, in the tower, cradling him to comfort and soothe.

He is the first to step past the welcoming party to take in the deserted shell that a couple of weeks ago was a community thrumming with life. He looks around Arkadia and can only hear the ghosts of children playing, of their people working in the gardens under the sun, of hoofbeats as Octavia rode Helios home to the stables. There are no children now, and Octavia (his heart gives a painful tug) could be miles away. Everything looks grey, dull, lifeless. It feels as though everything he and Abby built, spent sleepless nights working together over, has been blown away.

In the middle of the yard there is a large pile of what was clearly once wood, but is now mostly charcoal gradually being crumbled away by the elements. The wind has swept soot over the grass around them. Marcus knows what this is, the truth of it hitting him in the gut finally, in a way he couldn't let it before, even as he watched first hand as the shot rang out and Lincoln crumpled to the ground; even as Octavia's pain and grief made her tremble in his arms.

He knows Sinclair lay here too, but finds it hard to reconcile with his last image of the man, his friend, walking determinedly alongside the Blakes, Nate, Bryan and Harper back to what he'd thought was safety. Back to Abby, where they could recover and rebuild what Pike had nearly destroyed. He doesn't remember how long he's known Sinclair, he just knows he was always there, holding things together, doing the impossible by keeping a space station nearly a century old still afloat. He was brilliant, he was compassionate, he believed in Raven's genius and gave her the chance she so desperately wanted at a time when Marcus would have followed the rules and taken away her dream.

Luckily, that wasn't up to him.

Now he's just... gone. There isn't a body for Marcus to say goodbye to, either of them, Sinclair or Lincoln.

Lincoln was the first, he thinks, the first Grounder to see Skaikru as just other people. Before they even _were_ Skaikru, just a bunch of teenagers thrust into a world they did not understand, afraid, alone, confused. But he saw them fighting, determined to survive, their wonder at the world around them. And he saw Octavia, shining brighter than anyone.

Whatever few good things they have left, Marcus thinks, they owe it all to Lincoln making that first step.

He's so lost in his own mind that he doesn't hear the others moving around him. Some moving further into Alpha station, talking in muted voices, some standing at the pyre like him, respectfully giving him space, or perhaps not knowing how to approach him. For all that he has changed, Marcus can tell none of them know how to react to his pain laid bare. He's always had a wall up, keeping himself from being exposed and vulnerable. He reaches out to others, offers comfort and support, but he'd taught himself long ago to handle his own hurt alone. Told himself it was better that way, more efficient. People need not waste their time on his problems. Nobody has ever breached Marcus' wall save his mother.

Until now.

When a small hand slips into his, warm and familiar, he grips it like its his only tether to the earth. And when another hand softly brushes his cheek, thumb wiping away the tears he hadn't known he was crying until this moment, Marcus looks down at Abby Griffin at his side and his wall collapses.

He closes his eyes, lets the tears run unchecked and concentrates on Abby's body pressed into his side, her hands on his face, in his hair, her quiet, patient support, letting him take his time to speak, or say nothing at all, if he wishes.

"I'm the only one left." He chokes out, hoarsely. He looks up at the pyre again, "They sat with me in lock up. They looked to me to lead them, for solidarity." The brand seems to burn on his arm and he hears his own words to Lincoln echoed back at him: _Death can be an act of unity too._ He wonders if he even believes that anymore, if his friends died for nothing. "They knelt next to me when they came for us. They were ready to die beside me, because of me. How..." He fights to hold in the sob in his throat, "How is it that they're gone and the lesser man is still here?"

He hears Abby draw in a sharp breath and then she's in front of him, blocking his view of the wood pile, and all he can see are her eyes, both wet from her own tears, and on fire, furious.

" _No._ " It's like she throws her entire self behind that one word, she's shaking with suppressed emotion, "You do not say that. You do not _think_ it." Hands come up to grasp his face, fingers curling into the hair at his neck, tugging a little harshly. He couldn't escape her gaze even if he wanted to. This is an order from the woman he loves, and the intensity radiating from her tells him she will be obeyed.

"Lincoln and Sinclair," her voice trembles a little at their names, "made their own choices. And they chose to follow you, Marcus. Because they believed in you and what you were fighting for. Just like I believe in you," these words are thick with emotion, but as she says them she smiles at him and she is beautiful. She is everything. "Just like everyone here believes in you. And they believe in you because _you are a good man_ ," she gives him a little shake, as if it'll make the words stick better, "who wants a better world."

He can only stare at her, stunned and overwhelmed into silence.

"Lincoln chose to stay behind. Sinclair chose to keep fighting."

She is gentle again now, the fire he knows and loves still behind her eyes, but tempered. Marcus lets out a shaky sigh and nods, accepting. He offers her a small but genuine smile of his own, before ducking down to touch his forehead to hers.

"They deserved to live the life they helped us build." He murmurs. Abby cards her fingers through his hair again and he feels her nod minutely.

"They did." She agrees. "But they died protecting people they loved. If there's any reason to die, I think that would mean the most to them, don't you think?"

He nods again because she's right, of course she's right. She draws him to her fully and he holds on tight, still awed and humbled that he somehow, impossibly, has her love.

Over her shoulder Marcus looks at the pyre once more and says goodbye to his friends.

_May we meet again._


End file.
